


Sugar

by spirograph



Category: The Pacific - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-17
Updated: 2010-07-17
Packaged: 2017-10-31 11:41:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/343645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spirograph/pseuds/spirograph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Melbourne. Ice Cream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sugar

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Uniformly](http://uniformly.livejournal.com/) after listening to [this song](http://youtu.be/9wcDrbapUiU) on repeat FAR TOO MANY TIMES.

It's obscene, really, the loud slurping noises that Chuckler's making as he tackles his ice creams (ice creams, plural, because he could never be content with just _one_ like everybody else). The grin on his face is ridiculous, all teeth, and Runner can't help laughing with him, tracing vanilla with his eyes as it trickles from the corner of Chuckler's mouth, drips off his chin and onto his pants. His own ice cream is melting, he can feel it, cool stickiness sliding over his fingers. He really means to look away, to concentrate on all the girls walking past (although Lucky and Sid are doing a pretty decent job of leering at them without his help) and maybe reacquaint himself with the world outside of his team but--

Chuckler swirls his tongue out over the rim of his second cone, licks the ice cream to a fine peak before opening his mouth wide and pushing the whole thing past his lips with a muffled but distinctly satisfied “ _mmmph_.” 

Runner's gawking. Any moment someone is going to notice that he's turned into a slack jawed wreck and he'll never live it down but--

Chuckler slurps again, awkwardly holds both cones in one hand and brings the other up to his mouth, licks lewdly at the juncture of his thumb and forefinger, sucks at the skin, eyes fluttering closed with delight. “ _Jesus_ ,” he says around his fingers, “is this good or what?” Runner nods absently, mouthing the small mound of ice cream left in his cone. Lucky laughs in agreement. 

Chuckler gazes up at the sky, eyes bright from the sugar rush, sloppily munching away at what remains of his first – now-soggy - waffle cone until he's done, left with an empty hand and sticky palm which he rubs happily on the fabric of his dungarees. He turns his attention back to the second cone, spots a trail of vanilla making its way down the side of it, darts his tongue out, presses the pink tip flat against the bumpy cone and drags it up along the full length of it with a soft moan of ecstasy. Runner feels dizzy, like he's going to fall from his seat, tumble off the back of it and right down into _hell_. He's not sure what the heck is going on, but his dungarees feel uncomfortably tight and his ice cream cone cracks suddenly from the force of his fingers gripping too hard. 

Beside him, Chuckler stops what he's doing and eyes Runner's ice cream accusingly, squinting slightly at it like he's trying to summon it into his mouth using sheer willpower. Runner quickly stuffs the rest into his mouth, realising his mistake when vanilla escapes his lips and dribbles thickly down his chin. Chuckler frowns briefly before another grin spreads across his features; he nudges Runner's arm with his elbow, waggles his eyebrows and motions toward what is quite honestly the saddest, soggiest looking ice cream debris he's ever seen. His friend isn't phased, however, he just takes another bite, chews for a moment, then shrugs and packs what's left into his mouth, looking positively euphoric in the process. Chuckler's Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, muscles moving underneath the tanned shell of his skin and Runner is struck by the overwhelming desire to lean forward and put his lips there, run his tongue over the ridiculously pointed curve of Chuckler's jaw and press into his mouth, taste vanilla and try to coax some more of those blissful sounds from his throat. He startles himself thinking about tangling his hands in Chuckler's messy hair, tugging him forward, licking at the hard edge of his teeth and--

Chuckler laughs - completely oblivious to the way Runner is ogling him - gets to his feet and pats his thighs excitedly before looking down at Runner and saying, much to his horror, “Let's go get another one!”


End file.
